Sunday, June 25, 2006
We have been in San Jose for three weeks now, and it is slowly beginning to feel like home. In Igcocolo, the homey feeling was quickened by the small community—we would sit out at the local store and chat and laugh almost every night, everyone in the barangay knew us by name, age, occupation, where we were from and when we were born. Here in San Jose de Buenavista, the close-knitted-ness of the community is very low in the area in which we live. Living on the National Highway, with an average of 1400 STH (Stinky Trikes per Hour) passing our window every afternoon and so many people in the town (San Jose is not considered a “city” according to the Philippine Census, which, if it were, would entitle us as Peace Corps Volunteers to a nearly 800 Peso per month increase in our stipend), not many outside of our small block know us. With 2 other volunteers already in San Jose, and 2 more less than an hour north, we are, inevitably, just 2 more white people without name (except for “Joe”) when we venture the busy streets to walk somewhere. So having been here this long, join me on a review of a typical weekday in the life of Scott.

4:30 a.m.—Initial rush hour of 800 STH directly outside of our window rouses Scott from sweet slumber.
5:50 a.m.—Alarm clock beckons the beginning of a new day
5:58 a.m.—Snoozed alarm clock rings again.
6:06 a.m.—See entry for “5:58 a.m.”
6:14 a.m.—See above
6:14 and 8 seconds—Scott is pushed out of bed by cranky tired wife who has not returned to sleep since initial rush hour.
6:15 a.m.—Scott stands in the shower, cold bucket of water poised above his head, trying to build up courage to begin the shower.
6:17 a.m.—Shower finally begins
6:20 a.m.—Clean and cool Scott emerges from shower, changes into long pants and short sleeved button up T-shirt
6:25 a.m.—Breakfast served. Typical breakfast includes rice, pork or fish products, toast, instant coffee and bottled water.
6:40 a.m.—Breakfast complete, Scott returns to room to pack bag, read whatever book has recently engrossed him or write in his journal.
7:08 a.m.—Scott losses all sense of time while reading, and rushes downstairs to find Host-brother (nicknamed “Bungy-Boy”) patiently waiting for him.
7:09 a.m.—Scott and Bungy ride a trike to school (5 Pesos—about $.10)
7:13 a.m.—Scott and Bungy arrive at School.
7:15 a.m.—Flag ceremony starts at school. 1800 children sing the Philippine National Anthem, sing and dance the Antique Provincial Theme Song, recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the Philippines and listen to the principal remind them of their civic duty as children to pick up their trash.
7:28 a.m.—Scott begins giving a high-five to one student returning to class.
7:32 a.m.—…still giving high fives to the other 1799 students…
7:35 a.m.—Scott goes to his classroom to prepare for the day—getting alphabet and reading materials around, opening the windows in the classroom, arranging desks.
8:02 a.m.—Scott goes next-door to the remedial First Grade classroom to get his first victim/student for individual 30 minute reading sessions.
9:30 a.m.—Stop sessions for Pamahaw, a wonderful Philippine invention that necessitates the total stoppage of any work anywhere in the Philippines for a snack and/or beverage. Scott indulges in a glass bottle Mountain Dew (cost 10 Pesos) and/or the special of the day from the school canteen.
10:00 a.m.—Remediation begins again.
11:00/11:30 a.m.—Class ends (This is not really a set time, more an approximation. Sometimes the students go home by 10:45, sometimes at 11:00.
11:30 (ish) a.m.—Scott rides a trike home
11:34 (ish) a.m.—Scott gets home, sits in front of fan to try and stop the profuse sweating. Does not work.
11:45 a.m.—Erin walks home from her work (if she is in the office, which is a quick walk down the street)
12:00—Lunch time! Typical meal includes rice, chicken, soup, fish, pork, something fried, vegetables, bottled water.
12:30 p.m.—Lunch over, Scott and Erin retreat to room to rest.
1:30 p.m.—Scott rides a trike back to school.
1:34 p.m.—Scott arrives at school, goes to the Hearing Impaired classroom to have the students there help him with his sign language. So far, Scott has mastered the following signs: Good Morning, Good Afternoon, My name is Scott. I am 26 years old. I have a wife. Her name is Erin. Monkey. Yes. No. The Alphabet. Bridge. Snake. America. Brother, Sister, Mother, Father. Beautiful. Handsome. Joke. Camel.
2:00 p.m.—Remediation begins again.
3:00-4:00 p.m.—Classes end, students help to clean up the classroom. Again, not a set time, more an approximation. Scott helps clean, talks with students, they laugh at his inability to properly communicate in Kinaray-a, ask him why he has so much fur, tell him that he is fat, point to and touch his long, pointy nose or just giggle and surround him, taking turns shouting short English phrases at him point blank. “WHAT IS YOUR WIFE LOOKING, IS IT?” or “YOU KNOW EMINEM?” or “WHAT TEACHER YOU HAVE CRUSH ON?” (The answers of which are “She’s pretty.” “No.” and, “I’m married and I’m not in fourth grade.”) Scott then tells them they are all “Monkey Bridges” in sign Language and runs away crying.
4:14 p.m.—Scott gets on a trike and rides home.
4:21 p.m.—After much struggling, Scott finally changes out of his sweaty, stinky work clothes into shorts and a T-shirt.
4:22 p.m.—Coffee and rest time, either on the porch with the family or in his room, shaking and sobbing, depending on the how well the day went.
4:30 (ish)—Erin comes home. Whatever mood Scott is in, she is the opposite.
4:30-6:00 p.m.—Game time with Bungy, chatting with family, shopping or resting.
6:00 p.m.—Dinner Time (sometimes as late as 7:30 pm)
After Dinner—Card games with family, chatting with family, card games with Erin (our new game of choice is Cribbage)

Scott and Erin usually retreat to their room at around 8 p.m., depending on the availability of World Cup games or cheesy movies on TV. Before bed there is definitely reading, rehashing of the day and reminding ourselves that it is not that bad here. Usual bed time is 9:30-10:00 p.m.

MORE PICTURES!
These are from the swearing ceremony, including the tinikling bamboo dance, Scott and his new guitar, and Antique sunset, and the Antique volunteers together on the beach

My coworkers and I in Valderrama.

Here is the mountain resort bathroom, just as I dreamed it would be:)
My counterpart at Save the Children, Marlyn and I

A “Resort” Getaway
I need to adjust my definition of the word resort to fit this country. To me the words “mountain resort” conjure up images of a romantic getaway complete with clean sheets, hot showers, hiking trails, horseback riding and a pool/jacuzzi near a rushing mountain stream. Not so much the case here. This week I attended a Save the Children planning session in the mountain town of Valderrama, Antique at Villa Valderrama Mountain Resort. Allow me to describe the resort scene to you and we’ll do a little compare and contrast. Here, the word resort meant a conference room with holes in the floor, ceiling and doors, plastic chairs carefully placed so as to not fall through the floor, Christmas lights strung haphazardly around the room with one strand blinking and a couple strands burnt out. It meant damp, no wet foam mattresses under a caving in tin roof and no toilet seats or toilet paper, and certainly not a shower, hot or otherwise. This is a mountain resort. There was a beautiful rushing mountain stream though, just as I pictured. We drove through this rushing mountain stream three times on our ascent to the resort – fun! It was beautiful up in the mountain rainforest, traveling past rice terraces and mini mountain waterfalls. I totally loved it. The word resort just makes me laugh now.
Here are some photos from my Mountain Resort Getaway. . .

Scott and our little brother Jared in Guimbal.

A beautiful Guimbal sunset.

Playing during Camp Kasadyahan, our community activity in Guimbal

A man and his Karibaw passing in front of our house in Guimbal.

This is our training cluster. Scott, Erin, Ian, RyAnn and Eli

Some of the cutest kids in the world at the beach. (Kids from Ian's host family and ours) Bea and Erin in Guimbal

Some cute kids on one of the infamous trikes, our main mode of transportation
Here is our first host family during training in Guimbal. Nanay (mom) Lilia, Sally, Scott, Me, Manong (big brother) Badong, Manang (big sister) Judith, Baby Bea and Jared. Aren't they beautiful?

Some Parts of Normal Life, that were NOT Normal 3 months ago. . .

* Eating fish or pork for breakfast
*Piling into a motorcycle side car to get around everyday
* Carrying an umbrella when it's not rainy
* Seeing the sunset over the mountains or on the ocean regularly
*Cutting meat with a spoon. . . no knives here
*Sleeping under a mosquito net
*Using acronyms for everything ( I am a PCV working for STC in the WV in the CYF sector under the PNVSCA - no joke, people talk like that!!)
* No toilet seats. . . or toilet paper
*Calling people by nicknames like: BungyBoy, BokBok, BingBing, NiNi, and NoyNoy
*Being called either ma'am, or Joe, everywhere I go.
*Wearing jeans as formal attire
*Wearing jeans in 100 degree weather
*Being stared at and pointed at everywhere I go
*Swimming fully clothed in shorts and a t-shirt
*Picking ants, mosquitoes and various other insects out of my food or beverage and continuing to eat or drink without a second thought
*Traveling down rough dirt roads, across endless fields, and over bamboo bridges and somehow ending up at a school full of children - amazing!
*Ending phrases with the word lang - it is not translate-able, but the best answer to any question is, "OK lang." Godd to know, if you ever come visit
*Showering by scooping cold water from a large bucket (that is also the solution for no toilet paper)

I guess that is all for now. Just a few of the simple details of our life here. We are very happy with our new family in San Jose, it is not quite home yet, but we know it will be soon enough. We're both keeping busy with our jobs. I will let Scott give you an update about his work soon. Thanks for reading our random rantings! We would love to hear details of your lives at home. We miss everyone A LOT!
Thanks
-Erin:)

6-5-06
Tinikling, or the Bamboo Dance of Death
The swearing in ceremony for our official start as Peace Corps volunteers is somewhat of a big deal. The ambassador flies in, local dignitaries and department officials attend, so naturally, Peace Corps wants it to look professional. They also want us, the trainees to present native songs and dances to the people in attendance, to show our cultural immersion. Our hub manager, Sheila, texted us to tell us to head to our hub site for dance practice one day – we went, thinking the entire Western Visayas training group would be there performing the dance with us. We were sorely mistaken. We had been chosen (or rather nominated by a complex practice of no one else wanting to do it) to dance the “tinikling,” the national dance of the Philippines involving intense skill, quick feet and a percussionists rhythm. Unfortunately we possess none of these qualities. The tinikling has four central people. Two dancers who hop in and out of two long bamboo poles, smiling and hopping, twisting in harmonious synchrony. While the dancers are busy doing that, two others are holding the bamboo poles and giving all they’ve got to snap the dancer’s feet between the poles. The beat is a speedy waltz, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3. With each 1, 2 count the poles are clapped downwards to keep the beat and on number 3 they are slammed together! With this beating and snapping, the dancer’s feet are flitting in between the lightning fast blurs of bamboo, escaping punishment by a whisker’s breadth each time – at least in theory. While learning what we liked to call, the complicated bamboo dance of death, many tears were shed because careless ankles and toes were not in rhythm with the crashing poles and were curtly clipped as a reminder of the notoriously quick beat. Others were shed in anger and frustration at our having been chosen and not able to accomplish this task. Sometimes one of us would be perfectly on count and the other would mis-step or linger too long between the poles. We yelled at each other, the pole bearers got off-beat. . .disaster! After nearly 15 hours of practicing, not one time had we completed the dance perfectly. Maybe it was the idea of doing it in front of dignitaries, or even more dreaded, doing it in front of our friends – whatever it was, when we performed the dance at swearing in, by some miracle, we completed it flawlessly – a perfect performance. We were sore, tired, our feet hurt, but we had done it – completed the complicated bamboo dance of death! Everyone was so impressed and so thrilled that we had done it so well. If only they knew. . . .